


Mine

by Rose_SK



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Collars, Daddy Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lambert Has Feelings (The Witcher), Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Praise Kink, Protective Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Eskel (The Witcher), Soft Lambert (The Witcher), Switch Lambert (The Witcher), Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-02
Updated: 2020-10-02
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rose_SK/pseuds/Rose_SK
Summary: “I need to feel it on me,” Lambert murmured self-consciously, making Eskel stop his tender petting, “please.”“Lambert… are you sure?”Lambert took a deep breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he willed the fresh tears away. It was the only thing that could help him now, Lambert was sure of this. He needed it to feel calmer, to clear his head, to not be in control of his own thoughts.“Yes.”OR Lambert has a nightmare, and Eskel is there to reassure him.
Relationships: Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66





	Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day 2 of Whumptober.
> 
> Prompts used: "pick who dies"/collars/kidnapped
> 
> Come and say hello on Tumblr, my username is havenoffandoms :D

Lambert’s nightmares had only got worse over the past weeks. There was no explanation for it other than his brain being a dick for no reason at all. The nightmares were not any different from the ones which had plagued him since becoming a witcher – his father using him as a makeshift punching bag, the trials and the siege on Kaer Morhen were recurring themes in many of them. On some rare occasions, all these tropes came together causing Lambert to shoot up in bed panting and crying, although he would rather die a gruesome death before admitting this to anyone.

That night was bad. Really bad. Lambert knew he was having a nightmare, but despite this moment of lucidity, his brain refused to snap out of it. In the nightmare, Lambert was back at Kaer Morhen watching his friends and teachers being massacred by fanatics who wished to see the witchers, every single one of them, dead and buried six feet underground. The older, more experienced witchers tried, and failed, to save the younger boys. Lambert felt rage bubble in him and reached for his sword only to find that it was neither strapped to his back nor hanging from his hip. Panic seized Lambert but he quickly worked to regain his composure with deep even breaths. Witchers were in full control of their emotions. Witchers did not panic. Panic meant death. Lambert raised his dominant hand and went to trace a complicated pattern with his fingers – Igni – but he quickly noticed something was off when he could not feel the familiar rush of his magic cursing through his veins no matter how hard he concentrated.

No swords, no daggers, no magic. Powerless. Weak.

“Weak,” a familiar voice echoed cruelly in his ear, and Lambert instantly froze. “You’re weak, aren’t you boy?”

“It can’t be… how did you…?”

“Find you? I’ll always find you, Lambert. You’re my son. You belong to me.”

A strong hand twisted Lambert’s arm and pinned it to his back, while the other came up to squeeze at his throat. Another string of cruel words were whispered in his ear – coward, baby, pansy, among others – making Lambert feel small and meaningless, like he did when he was a child.

“Pathetic. You’re pathetic, Lambert. You’re an embarrassment to my name. Do you remember the time you wet the bed after a nightmare? You went running to your mother, crying. Pathetic. Weak.”

“You asshole. I was a child!” Lambert defended his actions, but fear like he had not felt in a long time clawed at his gut. He hated himself for allowing his father’s memory to still have such a firm hold on him.

“ _Were_ a child? You still are. Those witchers could never quite beat the coward out of you, Lambert. Look!”

Two figures manifested before Lambert’s eyes out of thin air, two familiar figures that made Lambert’s heart drop in his chest. The young woman, no older than thirty, skinny and her body black and blue with bruises inflicted by her husband was unmistakably Lillian, Lambert’s mother. Next to her a boy no older than five, maybe six at a push, who Lambert recognised instantly even though he had spent decades trying to forget. Simon, his younger brother, who had died under his father’s blows after taking the blame for one of Lambert’s mistakes.

“Do you recognise them, son,” his father’s voice sneered in his ear, the hold on his arm and neck tightening as he did so, “it’s your fault Simon’s dead, you know. It’s your fault. Look at them, son, and pick who dies today.”

“What the-“

“Pick who dies,” the voice repeated, sterner this time and cutting through Lambert’s carefully erected walls like a knife through butter, “or I’ll make you watch as I kill them both.”

Lambert stared at the two figures helplessly, his heart shattering in a million pieces. His mother’s brown eyes, the same colour as his own before the mutations turned them a freakish amber, stared right back at him with nothing but love and unbridled adoration for her oldest son. She had always loved him so freely, so openly, always spoken to him in a warm reassuring voice, promising him that she would keep them safe from his father. The memory of his mother’s voice still kept Lambert going even on the darkest hours spent on the Path. Then there was Simon, who had been robbed of his life too early, Simon who had looked up to Lambert and used to worship the ground Lambert walked on. Lambert’s stupid younger brother with a heart so big and full of love he would rather take a beating than see Lambert or their mother getting hurt. One day, after Lambert had spilt his glass of milk and their father had walked in on the scene, Simon had taken the blame. Simon was not a coward, unlike Lambert. He would have made a much better and more compassionate witcher than his older brother could ever hope to be _._ Lambert should have stepped in. He could have saved Simon if only he had owed up to his mistake. Simon would still be alive.

Hindsight was a wonderful fucking thing.

“Choose, coward! Choose.”

“No. You’re a sick son of a bitch.” Lambert croaked, trying to use his superior body strength to tackle his father to the ground, but just like everything else, his strength had left him too. Of fucking course.

“Choose!” The hand around his neck tightened further and Lambert found it increasingly difficult to breathe. “Choose or watch both of them die!”

“Fuck you.” Lambert’s amber eyes rolled to the back of his head. “I won’t play your fu-fucking mind games.”

“So you have made your choice. Watch them both die!”

____

“Lambert! Wake up!”

Lambert’s eyes suddenly shot open, and in his delirium, his hand instantly went to grab the throat of whoever was leaning over him. Lambert growled, baring his teeth viciously as his eyes took a second to adjust to the dim light cast by the fire burning in the hearth. The throat his fingers were wrapped around was thick and strong, so much so that Lambert struggled to squeeze it.

“Fuck you, you sick bastard. Get away from me!”

“Lambert, it’s me, Eskel,” a large hand came to rest on Lambert’s wrist, squeezing it gently without trying to pry himself free from Lambert’s grip on his throat, “you’re safe, Lamb. You’re safe.”

“Eskel?”

“Yeah. You’re in your room at Kaer Morhen. You’re safe.” Eskel’s other hand came up to cup the back of Lambert’s neck in a firm, but reassuring grip. Lambert bit back a relieved sigh and a delighted hum at the feeling of Eskel’s fingers gently scratching at the nape of his neck. The younger witcher bristled at how needy he was for Eskel’s touch. Lambert was not weak. Nor was he pathetic. Feeling comfort from Eskel’s tender touch made him weak.

“Fucking stop that!” Lambert snapped and jerked away from Eskel’s warm presence, “I’m not a fucking puppy for you to pet, got it scar face?”

Hurt flashed across Eskel’s face and Lambert instantly felt terrible for using that tone, and more important, that term. Eskel did not deserve his venom. Eskel never made him feel small or weak, or even pathetic. Eskel made him feel wanted, safe, _loved_. Eskel was a beacon of light in his otherwise dark world, the lighthouse guiding him home every winter. No, scratch that – Eskel _was_ home.

“I’m sorry, big guy,” Lambert swallowed thickly as he fought back the tears, “I’m so sorry. Eskel, forgive me. I… it was… that’s unforgivable.”

“You’re forgiven, Lamb,” Eskel whispered softly, resuming his tender ministrations and this time successfully pulling a pleased hum from the prickly witcher, “Just calm down, I’ve got you.”

“I couldn’t save them. My mum and Simon. He… my bastard father, that is, asked me to pick one to kill. Pick just _one_. Simon already died because of me, and because I couldn’t fucking pick, I condemned both him and mum. This time they _both_ died because of me. What kind of son… what kind of brother…”

“Shh, shh,” Eskel pulled Lambert close and the latter instantly buried his face in the broad, hairy chest in front of him, “shh Lamb, I’m here. It was just a dream. He can’t hurt you, not when I’m here. I won’t let him.”

Lambert was convinced that Eskel was dying to ask him about Simon. Lambert had never spoken that name since Simon’s tragic passing, much less revealed the circumstances surrounding his younger brother’s death. Eskel was bound to have questions for Lambert, but the older witcher never voiced them. Eskel understood that this was not the right time to delve into Lambert’s past, and he was incredibly grateful for that.

“I need to feel it on me,” Lambert murmured self-consciously, making Eskel stop his tender petting, “please.”

“Lambert… are you sure?”

Lambert took a deep breath, his eyes squeezing shut as he willed the fresh tears away. It was the only thing that could help him now, Lambert was sure of this. He needed it to feel calmer, to clear his head, to _not_ be in control of his own thoughts.

“Yes.”

“We haven’t done this in a while. You need to let me know if it’s too much, Lamb, okay? I need you to promise me that you’ll use your words.”

Lambert exhaled a shaky breath at the loving and caring tone. Eskel was safe, he reminded himself. Eskel was home. Eskel would never hurt him. And Lambert’s heart belonged wholeheartedly to this witcher, who was far too sensitive and kind for someone befitting his guild, but Lambert loved that about him.

Lambert loved _everything_ about Eskel.

“I promise, sir. I promise I’ll be good.”

Eskel inhaled sharply, and Lambert could feel the growing bulge pressed against his thigh. A low growl rumbled deep in Eskel’s chest which sent a pleasant shiver coursing through Lambert. Eskel leaned forward and captured Lambert’s lips in a deep kiss, which despite the heat conveyed all of Eskel’s love for Lambert. A love which remained mostly unspoken between them, but actions spoke louder than words.

“Good boy,” Eskel’s words had Lambert keen needily, “stay here while I go fetch it.”

 _It_ being the collar Lambert kept safely tucked away in his chest near the fireplace, together with various other toys including dildos, whips, rope and ball gags. Lambert sat up straighter so he had a better view of Eskel’s naked chest. The witcher wore only his cotton sleeping breeches which hung suggestively low on his strong hips, a sight that would make even the most skilled whore blush like a virgin. Lambert whined wantonly as his hand went to palm his own dick through his smallclothes. Eskel tutted at him disapprovingly.

“Not yet, pup. Hands behind your back.”

Lambert complied, if somewhat reluctantly, his lips moving into a petulant pout. Eskel only flashed him an indulgent smile.

“There’s a good boy. So well-behaved for me, aren’t you pup?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good boys get rewarded, don’t they Lambert? If you’re good, I promise you’ll get a treat. Would you like that?”

“Yes sir, please,” Lambert answered, his tone growing desperate. “Please sir, I’ll be good, so good for you.”

“I know you will be. You’re doing so well already.”

Eskel finally retrieved the collar, holding it almost reverently in his hands. The collar had been a present from Eskel meant to replace the old, shabby dog collar Lambert had been using for years before Eskel and him had started exploring that aspect of their sexual relationship with one another. Eskel’s collar looked almost regal. The high-quality red leather was embroidered with golden thread creating elaborate arabesques all around it and hidden within the design was the letter ‘E’ to remind Lambert who he belonged to when he wore the collar. The golden buckle caught the light beautifully unlike any other gem he had ever seen. Lambert had insisted on knowing how much the collar had cost, so Eskel revealed having spent an entire contract’s earnings on it. _Archgriffins always pay well, Lamb. I still had plenty of coin left for myself_. That, of course, had been a blatant lie. Lambert remembered feeling both elated and embarrassed that Eskel would spend that kind of money on him, on _Lambert_ , who was by no stretch of the imagination _special_ enough to deserve a gift such as this one.

To Eskel Lambert clearly _was_ that special, but the latter still found it difficult to wrap his head around that fact.

When Eskel’s eyes – warm, kind, reassuring – met Lambert’s, a cocky grin plastered on his handsome face, Lambert’s heart nearly soared out of his chest. The witcher stepped closer to the bed as his fingers dextrously unclasped the collar. _Such a tease_. Once Eskel was close enough, he gently wrapped the ornate collar around Lambert’s neck and fastened it securely. Not too tight, but tight enough to make Lambert feel at Eskel’s mercy. Eskel then stepped back to admire the sight in front of him, giving Lambert the perfect view of the older witcher’s straining cock yearning to break free from the confines of his breeches.

“You look so fucking beautiful, Lamb. Just look at you, wearing my collar. Wearing my colours.” Lambert moaned at Eskel’s words, one hand coming to rest on the collar around his neck. “Who do you belong to?” Eskel asked, his rich baritone voice going straight to Lambert’s weeping cock.

“You, sir.”

“Say it for me, pup.”

“I belong to you, Eskel, sir,” Lambert repeated diligently as his fingers fiddled with the sheets behind his back, itching to grab his cock and pump it until he spent himself in his smallclothes like a fucking teenager. He had to be good. Be good for Eskel.

“Yes, you do. You’re mine. And I always take good care of what’s mine, don’t I?”

As he spoke, Eskel’s hand came to lazily massage his own erection through his cotton breeches. Lambert swallowed thickly at the sight.

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re mine, and no one else’s. I’ll protect you from everything and everyone who tries to take you away from me, because you’re mine. Do you understand, Lambert?”

Eskel was so fucking good at this. Lambert loved giving up control, which according to Aiden qualified him a raging sub (to which Lambert had said _bullshit_ ), but Eskel never made him feel any weaker for it. Eskel used his words, his gentle disposition, his patience to make Lambert feel strong even when wearing a collar around his neck. It was not any collar, it was _Eskel’s_ collar. No one else could make him feel this way. Geralt would not know where to start – he was so terribly vanilla when he wanted to be – and Aiden would most likely be too intense, too much. Eskel was never too much. Eskel was just enough, not to say perfect.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. What do you want from me, Lamb? Remember, use your words.” Eskel’s tone was gentle, but heavy with arousal. Lambert discreetly took in Eskel’s scent – leather, sweat and smoke, which combined together created a musk so uniquely Eskel that Lambert would be able to track him in a crowded marketplace without the help of his eyes. A whine tumbled past his lips against Lambert’s will.

“Make me forget,” Lambert begged softly, “just for a little while, make me forget. I want my mind filled with nothing but thoughts of you, daddy.”

There it was, the term Lambert had been working his way up to. He had gently slipped into that familiar headspace since Eskel had fitted the collar around his neck. He had stopped being Lambert the traumatised and emotionally unavailable witcher to become _Eskel’s_ Lambert. All that mattered was Eskel. The term he had used to refer to his lover had a very clear effect on the older witcher. His cock twitched in the confines of his breeches and Lambert wanted nothing more than to take care of Eskel’s massive hard-on for him.

“Anything for you, sweet pup. Make yourself comfortable.”

Lambert took a minute to think before slowly lowering himself onto his back, his eyes never leaving Eskel as he did so. The latter stepped closer to the bed once he was confident that Lambert was comfortable. Eskel then climbed onto the bed and straddled Lambert’s before hooking a long thick finger between the collar and his lover’s neck and tugging at it probingly. The action pulled a needy sound from Lambert, but Eskel was quick to softly shoosh him, leaning forward to briefly catch Lambert’s lip between his teeth.

“Good boy. Such a pretty boy, too,” Eskel trailed his fingers along the edge of Lambert’s jaw, “so good for me. Are you ready?”

“Ready as ever,” there was an urgency to Lambert’s voice, “please, daddy, please.”

“Shh, my sweet. It’s alright, I’ve got you.” Eskel raised his dominant hand – his left one – and lowered his ring finger and pinkie to form the Axii sign. “Listen to me, Lambert. Listen to the sound of my voice. Relax.”

“Yes, daddy.”

Axii did not work on other witchers normally, but obviously Eskel had to be fucking special, didn’t he? Lambert was still in full control of his actions – he was not mentally at Eskel’s mercy. Lambert was just relaxed, more relaxed than he had felt in months. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his mind. He could move away from Eskel if he wanted to, but Lambert really, _really_ , did not want to move away.

“Well done. You’re doing so well. You’re so brave, my sweet pup.” Eskel smiled warmly, genuinely, and it made Lambert feel good, like he did something right for once in his life. He felt like he had done Eskel proud. “Tell me how you feel, Lambert.”

“Good,” Lambert blurted out instantly because it was the truth, he felt good, happy, elated, safe. It took Lambert several seconds to realise he had spoken all these feelings out loud. It was Eskel’s chuckle that gave it away.

“That’s not a feeling. Dig deeper, pup. For me.”

Those two words did it for Lambert. Lambert would do anything if Eskel used these words on him. Because Eskel deserved the fucking world, didn’t he, what with his big heart and his stupidly expressively eyes. Hell, Lambert would pluck the moon, the stars and the fucking sun from the sky if it made Eskel fucking happy. As the fog settled over his mind, Lambert briefly wondered what colour Eskel’s eyes were before the Trials.

“Green,” said Eskel, and there was that indulging smile again, the kind of smile that made Lambert’s insides go to mush. Clearly the younger witcher had spoken his thoughts out loud without realising.

“Green,” Lambert mused, trying to imagine the man above him without the familiar amber eyes and he found that he did not like that idea at all, “I prefer your eyes the way they are now.”

“You’ve never seen me with green eyes,” Eskel pointed out, and Lambert could not fault that logic. Eskel’s hands cupped Lambert’s face and soon after, soft lips kissed his slowly, lovingly. Lambert ran his tongue along Eskel’s upper lip, enjoying the change from smooth to rough where the other witcher’s scars twisted the lip into a permanent snarl. Eskel’s chest rumbled in protest at the affectionate gesture, still unused to people worshipping his scars, but how could they fucking not when it made Eskel look so fucking hot?

“You haven’t answered me, Lambert. How are you feeling. Really feeling?”

“Fucking shit, alright?” Lambert pulled Eskel closer, his tongue now exploring the other witcher’s mouth eagerly. Eskel indulged him, letting Lambert take the lead for a while, because he needed that little bit of control occasionally and Eskel knew when to give it to him. Finally, Lambert parted from his lover and heaved a sigh. “I’m scared. I’m scared of my own mind. You know I haven’t slept in a week because of these fucking nightmares?”

“Yes, Lamb. I know. I’m here now.”

“You’re not here all the time,” Lambert mumbled, once again slipping into that needy headspace. His hands grabbed onto Eskel’s biceps, fingernails digging into the tanned skin like he worried his lover might disappear like a mirage. “You’re not here all the time.”

“I can be, if you need me to,” Eskel reassured him, his breath hot against Lambert’s cheeks. Soft lips peppered kisses all over his face and neck. Lambert moaned wantonly. “Use your words, sweet boy. Tell me what you need. I’ll do anything for you.”

“Daddy,” Lambert whined, the grip on Eskel’s shoulder tightening, “please.”

“What do you need, pup?”

“ _You_. I need you.” Lambert’s hands went to undo Eskel’s laces dextrously. “I want to suck you off. Make you feel good, daddy.”

“If that’s what you want, who am I to refuse my sweet pup?” Eskel helped Lambert with the laces of his breeches and briefly got off the bed to discard them completely. Lambert stopped him before Eskel could climb onto the bed again.

“Like this,” Lambert offered as an explanation before moving onto his hands and knees so his face was perfectly lined up with Eskel’s bulging cock, “I want to suck you off like this.”

Eskel’s growl did things to Lambert, and the way the witcher towering above him threw his head back in helpless abandon as Lambert’s tongue darted out to lick tentatively at the pink tip made Lambert proud. Only he could make Eskel feel that way. He knew, because Eskel always praised him to the heavens and back after Lambert treated him to one of his famous blowjobs.

“Fuck,” Eskel’s hand came to rest at the back of Lambert’s head, his fingers curling into a fist as his lover began to move his lips down the length of his cock, “fuck, Lambert, your mouth feels so good.”

Lambert used the flat of his tongue to massage the protruding vein throbbing in his mouth. Eskel hissed at the action, his eyes fluttering shut and his mouth slightly agape. Lambert hated that no sound escaped Eskel’s mouth, so he redoubled in effort. He took Eskel’s cock in as far as he could, until the very tip hit the back of his throat, and Lambert held position for several seconds before pulling back, hollowing his cheeks as he did so. Eskel mewled, fucking _mewled_ like a kitten. Oh glorious gods above, Lambert would kill to hear that sound again. Lambert let Eskel’s dick slide out of his mouth before teasing the heavy balls with the tip of his tongue and sucking eagerly on them as he used his hand to jerk Eskel off. Soft pants could be heard from the witcher above him; Lambert smirked.

“Such a talented mouth. Fuck, you’re perfect, Lambert. Such a good boy. Filthy boy.”

Lambert moaned at the praise, the vibrations pulling a deep moan from Eskel who lazily started fucking into Lambert’s mouth. The latter let his jaw go slack to accommodate Eskel’s girth, and only then did his lover start fucking his mouth in earnest. The hand resting at the back of his neck went to grab a hold of the collar and tugged, not hard enough to choke, but hard enough to let Lambert know who was in charge. It was exhilarating, being at Eskel’s mercy. Maybe Aiden had been right when he called Lambert a sub.

Eskel’s sub. It had a nice ring to it.

“Fuck, ’m close. You gonna swallow my load, pretty boy?”

Lambert made an approving noise at the back of his throat which came out as a low rumbling hum. Eskel understood, of course he did, he always understood even when Lambert did not find the words to express what he was feeling. Eskel’s movements became more erratic as he neared his climax. The hold on the collar tightened ever so slightly when Eskel’s hips jerked forward and buried his shaft as far as it would go down Lambert’s throat without choking him. His seed shot out of his dick in long, hot spurts, and Lambert swallowed it greedily like he was drinking the finest mead from the finest cup in all the fucking Continent. Eskel mumbled more praise, praise which washed over Lambert like a calming wave, and only when Eskel had fully spent himself did he let go of the collar. Lambert licked his lips teasingly, a dirty smirk on his lips. The collar suddenly felt too tight around his neck and Lambert made this known by tugging at it and grumbling irritably.

“Use your words,” Eskel teased, a fucking smirk on his smug face, but eventually he took pity on Lambert and unfastened the collar. Lambert sighed in relief, happy that he had brought Eskel to climax, but the weight of his own erection was undeniable. Eskel climbed onto the bed again and crawled towards Lambert, a strong hand pressing him to the mattress and pinning him there. “Your turn now, pretty boy.”

Lambert watched Eskel leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses down his chest and stomach, making a beeline for his straining cock, and a smirk tugged at the corner of Lambert’s lips. Nightmares were not so bad after all when Eskel was there to kiss it all better.

END.


End file.
